


An Incident at the Mill

by hes5thlazarus



Series: Lazarus' Harry Potter Daydreams [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 8,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hes5thlazarus/pseuds/hes5thlazarus
Summary: the millrat AUA series of vignettes on what could’ve happened if Tobias Snape had been badly injured in an accident at the mill, forcing Severus to drop out of Hogwarts before the Prank. Predominantly Lilycentric. Snily shippers, rejoice: most of the vignettes are from Lily’s point of view, featuring her as flawed, passionate, bullheaded, comfortable in her sexuality, quick to curse and quicker to laugh at herself–and with a complicated relationship to alcohol and the Wizarding World.A big thank you to lennyweasley and deathdaydungeon for sparking the initial headcanons that became this series.
Relationships: Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape
Series: Lazarus' Harry Potter Daydreams [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954336
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	1. prologue

the original daydream:  
  
  
Day dreaming a world in which Tobias Snape dies at an accident at the mill the summer of Severus & Lily’s fourth year, and so Severus is forced to stay in the muggle world and work. I imagine he would arrange some sort of OWL tutoring in Slughorn, who wouldn’t let a Slytherin go to waste, but what else would change?  
  
This would be a “Sev the punk” and “Sev the occasional drug dealer” fic, and I like to think of it as becoming Snily, if I can find James and Sirius picking on Peter plausible–since their usual victim is gone. I think that would shake Lily out of her complacency when it comes to James’ bullying; I don’t think she’d buy him “growing up” if she saw him turning on one of his best friends. Of course, I think it would be mostly Sirius, and James trying to keep Sirius under control. Maybe Lily would withdraw more with Mary, a fellow muggleborn, and they’d both be harassed by the Slytherins, since Snape wouldn’t be around to make Lily an exception. (We have to admit he was probably that gross.)  
  
And that’s how Lily and Mary end up back in the muggle world, struggling to get into college, living together in a flat in Manchester–let’s set it in Manchester, we could use the music scene–and Snape ends up a neighbor, or frequent visitor, playing bass or drums in a punk band and not staying out of trouble. Maybe Lily convinces him to return to academia.  
  
And then he knocks her up right after graduation. Hello, Julian Harrison Snape. Hello, borderline abusive Granma Ellie and Stepford-smiling Granma Rosie and Granpa Harry. The prophecy’s still delivered–this time by Peter, who gets to be a Snapesque hero eventually. The prophecy still applies to their kid–maybe Lucius thought it’d be interesting to use a mugglish thug to create a little terror in the muggleworld, and Severus demurred. But Voldemort picks Neville, rather than the young basically Muggle violently in love couple. Because there’s no way some drug dealer’s brat can be his equal. Frank Longbottom sacrifices himself for his son. Augusta picks up the pieces, holds them up, and realizes–hang on, something’s not right.  
  
Cue Augusta Longbottom, Minerva McGonagall, and Albus Dumbledore hunting horcruxes. Can you imagine how ridiculous it could be?


	2. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and the proper beginning!

When Lily arrived at the boathouse, flushed and hurried, Sev was already curled up against the wall, glaring down at a shabby textbook. She stopped at the door. He was muttering to himself, “Occlumens! Oc-clu-mens! Cludo mentem!” She bit her lip–close my mind? The Slytherins had been ragging him for letting his emotions show on his face, she’d overheard Wilkes jeering at him in Defense last week, but Mulciber had stepped in to derail the conversation, and she’d been too irritated with the grateful look Sev shot him to ask him about it. Sometimes, she felt like he had no integrity, no consistency–but she shook her head rapidly, and stepped over the threshold.

“Sev,” she said. “I just heard at the prefects’ meeting–saw your note–sorry I’m late.”

“Save it,” he said darkly. Lily resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. “It’s fine. Whatever. What were they saying?”

She slid down next to him, folding her legs. Curious, she glanced over to see what he was reading, catching scrawled notes going all over the page, but Sev hunched over his textbook before she could decipher his chickenscratch. She reached her arm out, elbow first, tentatively, to see if he wanted to be touched. He let their arms meets, but she could still feel the tension vibrating through his body. Lily thought to herself, somewhat fondly, high maintenance. “Thorfinn Rowle said your father’s ill, so you might have to go on, and that Slytherin House would not be pleased to see any of its members harassed during times of ‘such familial upset’–but you weren’t the only one he talked about!” she clarified hastily, seeing his nasty look. “He said to back off from Barty Crouch too, his mother’s ill and he might have to go home for a few days, and that the Burke twins’ grandmother is also sick.”

Sev weirdly smiled. “That’s my grandfather too.”

“Oh.” Lily was disconcerted. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She tried to slip my mother an abortifacient when she told them she was pregnant. Nearly killed her. And me.”

“Oh,” Lily said again.

“Don’t say that,” Sev said irritably.

“What?”

“Don’t say that, as if it means anything. If you can’t say think to say anything, just don’t say anything at all, alright?” He jumped to his feet. “It’s bullshit, you know, and you’re the one who gets at me for being–inauthentic. At least I don’t–utter useless nothings!”  
  
Lily crossed her arms. “What the hell’s your problem, Sev? Don’t go jumping down my throat for trying to show some sympathy!”

Sev pressed his lips together, suddenly wretched. He closed his eyes, turned away. “My father got into an accident at the mill. He’s had to get a leg amputated, and my mother doesn’t have time with work to help with the physical therapy, and without him working we don’t know what to do to meet the rent, the union can’t comp us that much–we can’t pay the next term’s school fees, not if we want my father in that therapy program…”

“Oh, Sev,” Lily said softly. She stood up. “Come on.” She reached for his arm. He stiffened, but let her hug him. “So now what?”  
  
He let his head fall onto her shoulder. His own back, Lily noted, was tight, and he looked to suppressing a sob–cludit mentem, Lily thought sadly. “I have to go back. Help my folks. They need me. I have to drop out.” He dropped his weight almost bonelessly onto her. “I have to leave Hogwarts.” He was crying, poor ol’ Snivellus, Lily thought cruelly, then blinked. She was spending too much around Potter. She tightened her embrace.

“Hey, Sev, we’ll figure something out,” she said. “Sluggy’ll figure something out. He won’t let you go without a fight.” She bit her lip. “I won’t let you go without a fight, you’re my best friend, right? I’ll keep you updated on lessons, you can practice magic at your house, right? We can work together in the breaks? We’ll figure this out, Sev, it’ll be okay…”


	3. Lily vs Mulciber

It was odd driving down to London without Sev in the backseat, mostly taciturn but occasionally venturing forth a comment on the music, a nonanswer to her dad’s opinion on the state of the economy. They had managed to meet up right before she left, though, but it wasn’t enough. She hadn’t seem him nearly enough.

He’d been snappish, the times she managed to catch him–which were at least three times a week, but she always felt lonely in the summer, it didn’t feel like near enough. Of course, he was feeling bitter about being back in Cokeworth, and working all the time. She hadn’t seen him without a fag in his mouth, and it seemed the only thing keeping him from lashing out. Still, she had noticed he was filling out, eating more, and even a Northern burr was taking over the posh he’d learned from Malfoy. He was even making friends–she had seen him talking to some of the rougher-looking guys their age, smirking, even posturing a little. She thought about teasing him, accusing him of posturing like James Potter,but he’d probably stop speaking to her over that. Sometimes, it felt like she was treading on eggshells around him. It was better than it had been at Hogwarts, though. They could finally talk politics and agree on something.

Still, she missed him, and she wasn’t looking forward to facing the Hogwarts Express without him. He was a neat shield against the worst of the pureblood whispering. The Slytherins would fixate on getting him away from her, as he escorted her to the prefects’ compartment, rather than trying anything with her. It was irritating and she wished they’d leave them all well alone, but she got what she wanted, didn’t she? There was no way they’d bother Sev Snape, mill rat extraordinaire, now.

The hugs from her parents were perfunctory, as usual.

“Bring a nice boy home,” her mother said in lieu of a goodbye, and pecked her on the cheek and ushered her laughing father away before Lily could explode in outrage. Petunia was waiting in the car. She’d been silent the entire trip. Suitcase in band, Lily squared her shoulders, backpack aching her shoulders. Around her people blurred in the King’s Cross rush. Hold your head high, she thought, you’re better than the others. She went in.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express gleamed, steaming the platform as people laughed and hugged, parents chatting up their kids, younger siblings have that last meltdown, animals chittering. Lily hurried into the train itself, blanking her eyes and smiling indifferently at anyone who noticed her. The sneers were inevitable. The hard plastic suitcase and backpack marked her as muggle. She didn’t care. They were so much more convenient than a trunk, and she had no interest in buying something meant to last generations. She was the first and last witch of her line, thank you very much, no children for her.

In the train, students were dashing about, already in robes. The new fashion was to have floral hemlines, with matching shoes, which left flower illusions springing up from their footprints. Charming: Lily’s nose wrinkled, the Obliviators must be working overtime right now. There were even a few in dramatic silk cloaks with gothic ‘WP’s woven into the shifting shadows–for ‘Wizard Pride.’ Lily felt her jaw set, but again made the muscle relax. Nothing could shake her.

The Prefect’s Cabin was all the way in the front of the train; she had entered at about the middle, and the Express was bigger on the inside. Relentlessly Lily smiled as people elbowed past her, greeting those she knew, which felt like everyone, exchanging trite “I’m so glad to see you!” and the occasional half-hug. If Sev were here, they’d be talking away at each other, ignoring the others, trying to get one last good conversation in before the school year started and everything got so much more difficult. But her smile never faded, not even when a compartment door suddenly slid open and Evan Rosier tripped out, falling to her feet.

She looked down at him icily. “May I help you?”

Rosier shot up to his feet, brushing imagining dust off his robes. They were the shadowy WP silk edition, she had seen them in the window at Twilfit and Tatting’s. “Only by leaving,” he said. “Where’s Snape?”

Lily stiffened. “You already know. Rowle informed your house, didn’t he?”

Rosier smiled thinly. “No shit, Evans. But I know you’re his neighbor, where does he live? You can’t send an owl to a unknown minor, you know.”

Lily bristled at his tone. “You can’t send an owl to a muggle neighborhood, that’s a violation of the Statute of Secrecy.”

“Don’t even think to lecture me on the Statute of Secrecy,” Rosier said slowly. “My father is a member of the Wizengamot, do you even know what that is?”

“I know what the Wizengamot is,” Lily said repressively. “Now, I’m afraid you’re in my way–”

Rosier laughed. “Did you hear that, lads?” he called to the compartment. “Little Muddy Lily thinks we’re in her way.”

“Oh, we’re in her way,” Mulciber lumbered into the corridor. “We’re in her way to destroy wizardry, that’s what we’re in the way of.”

“What,” Lily said flatly. She summoned her wand out of her sleeve and into her hand. “No, I need to get to the Prefect’s Compartment. Because I am a Prefect. For Gryffindor House. Like Avery, who I assume is already out there. You are in the ways of the duties put upon me by Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Unless you think Hogwarts is destroying wizardry, and then I have to ask why you’re here, patronizing it, instead of at Durmstrang. Which is presumably more wizardly.”

Mulciber’s eyes flashed, and she knew she had hit a nerve, but she didn’t know how or why. She raised her wand, but Rosier put his hand on Mulciber’s shoulder, pushing him into the compartment.

“Leave it,” he said. “We’ll deal with her later.”


	4. meet the parents

“Sev,” Lily says, exasperated and fond, “you can’t go dressed like that.”

He sneers, he folds his arms defensively. “I thought you liked me in leather.”

She does, but she can’t have him all punked out for Sunday dinner with her parents and Petunia. He might finish off her mother’s last stroke–which, to be perfectly honest, may not be a terrible thing. Her mother has always made it clear to her daughters how much they lack, and always separately. Petunia still hasn’t figured out she gets the same half-shrieked, intense, arm-grabbed lectures on how worthless she is compared to her sister.

She quirks an eyebrow. “But in front of my parents? Can you imagine the fuss my mum’d make?” He deflates. He’s been better about empathy lately, realizing now that their mothers are similarly grasping, controlling–the envy for her Stepford life has diminished.

He mutters, more than half-ashamed, “I don’t have anything as–new.” And here she bites her lip, because while the Evanses are lower middle class, her father makes enough so her mother does not have to work, Sev had to drop out to put food on the table after his father’s accident. Out of wizard school, or as Petunia puts it, “that place”–hoggy warty Hogwarts, which taught him nothing good.

“What about that green shirt, the button down?”

“Irrevocably stained.” He looks a bit pleased with himself.

She pauses, but decides she’ll ask later, they’re expected in half an hour and it was enough to make him wash and tie back his hair. “Then a nice t-shirt. Wear your jeans. They’re black, not too tight, your butt looks good in them but more…decorous,” Sev snorts, tossing his head to hide behind his hair, he needs to get used to how much she likes his body, a post-prandial shag might help, “than in–those,” fantastically tight leather trousers, the grand declaration of bisexuality, but she got there first, and he got weird when she suggested scoping out blokes together, a bit offended by the threesome idea, “they might pass muster.”

“There’s my Rolling Stones shirt.” From a previous musical phase, did it used to be his dad’s?

Lily sighs. She has his meager wardrobe memorized. That shirt would scandalously tight to her mother, now that he’s put on muscle and weight, he’s a better provider than his father and the physical labor stirs up his appetite. “It’ll have to do.” He looks uncertain, hurt, for a moment, so she pulls him closer, draws her hands down his back, parks them on his bottom, contemplates squeezing, sex is ridiculous. They’ve been dating for a year now, but have only been physically together for six weeks. Sex is ridiculous, but it makes up for the long months of absence, those letters can’t cuddle, no matter how much of their hearts, their minds, their souls are pinned in the ink. She loves him.

“You’ll look scandalous,” she murmurs into his ear. “Fabulous,” she leans into him, enjoying the heat, “and hopefully not like you’ll ‘destroy the passers-by.”

He pulls back, chagrined. “You can quote better than the Sex Pistols,” and she knows an entire lecture on the history of punk is about to ensure and they’ll be at least ten minutes late to dinner if she doesn’t derail this, fast. She slaps his ass and pulls him back towards the dresser.

“Come on, Sev,” she smiles, punk’s a lot more anodyne than the Death Eaters, and she’s become as lean and muscled as him, dueling Avery and Mulciber and Wilkes in the halls, as quick to draw as Sirius Black, but outside of Hogwarts, her worries are making her new boyfriend presentable while not embarrassing him, normal things, and it’s enough to ease the anxiety, they still have eight weeks until September 1st, she only has one more year, and then she has him to herself, always.


	5. Hogsmeade, April 1978

Hogsmeade, April 1978: it was rainy and cold, and most of the students had taken refuge at the Three Broomsticks. She had noticed Mulciber’s gang darting to the Hog’s Head and hid in the doorway of Scrivenshaft’s, watching carefully. She didn’t want them to notice her, but she didn’t want to let her guard down either–or let them ruin her day. Sev had successfully petitioned for his Apparition license, and was coming to visit.

She heard the tell-tale pop deep in the alley next to her and drew her wand, just to be careful. The Death Eaters hadn’t dared attack Hogsmeade yet, but Diurn Alley was closed, and half the shops at Frantick Alley had gone out of business. It was only a matter of time. She decided to duck into the shop, give him something to look forward to.

She busied herself amongst flavoured parchment, biting her lip. The idea was that the notes would be digestible and thus totally hidden. She wanted to keep Sev’s letters, both their families knew about each other, Hogwarts didn’t quite but that didn’t matter. Mary was alright with it. It didn’t matter. She had nothing to hide.

The shop bell rang, the wind blew the rain into the store, she shivered and turned around. There he was, in ill-fitting robes, jeans underneath. He had washed his hair. Lily smiled. She grabbed a few red sticks of wax, for letter sealing, and hurried over.

“It’s good to see you,” Sev said, eyes dark, face still. She laughed at him.

“‘Good’? I’d hope so!” She placed the wax on the counter, started counting out sickles. She didn’t miss his sudden, enormous smile, his arm snaking around her waist. She scooped her change and the wax up hurriedly, sticking them in her pocket, and let him sweep her away.

The weather had turned into an outright downpour. They stooped in the doorway, holding each other close.

“How are you? How’ve you been? How’s your dad?”

“Fine, fine, dying but not fast enough.” He squeezed her again. “Where do you want to go?”

She laid her head against his chest. “I thought I’d surprise you with…”

“Yes?”

“And then I didn’t think that far. Isn’t there a little cafe down the road? The Cat & Kettle?”

She felt him tense suddenly. “I see Potter coming, let’s go.”

She took his hand. “They can’t do anything to you without being expelled. Dumbledore promised. Don’t make that face. Come on, let’s get a cup of tea. And maybe we can apparate back to your place?”

“No chance, Lily.” He touched her cheek. “I don’t have any wizarding money–”

“You covered me last time, Sev. Let me give this to you.” She smiled innocently. “You wouldn’t refuse a gift?”

He snorted. “You’re terrible,” he said. “Totally transparent.” He kissed her soundly, she grinned, and led him off, and they had a lovely cuppa, a solid meal, watching the rain in peace. The touch of his hand on her wrist was driving her mad–but Easter break would come soon enough. For now, she could complain about Mulciber and Potter and trade ideas on defensive spells and he could spin plans for the future, for getting his father into care, for working at Shafiq’s apothecary, for getting his OWLs and NEWTs. And maybe Voldemort wouldn’t kill them, for sullying the blood.

But the sullying part, oh it was so much fun, and when she told Mulciber all his problems would be solved if it hadn’t been for the inbreeding–you really need to get laid, it’s such a shame about the impotence–Mulciber dropped his wand and tried to slam her head into the wall. When she told Sev, she omitted the near-concussion part, and talked about hexing him a tail, so he could have something to successfully stroke, and Sev cackled, it was all worth it, as long as they could laugh.


	6. mulciber's calling card

“Hmm, feces in the corner,” Lily said, jerking in the direction with her chin. “Always was Mulciber’s calling card.”

Petunia was nonplussed. “You–you–your freakish friends–polluting my house–”

“Tuney, he really wasn’t my friend,” Lily sighed. “As evinced by this attempt to shit on all that I hold dear. I can clean this, you know, you don’t–”

But Petunia was already pulling on yellow rubber gloves and was grimly holding a ziplock bag. Lily was exasperated, this really would be easier if Tuney let her clean–then Petunia handed her the plastic baggie.

“Get to it, then,” Petunia clipped. “I’ll straighten up the parlor.”

Lily briefly weighed the options of a quick Cinderella charm and Obliviation against Petunia’s inevitable freakout. Well, it was inevitable. She decided to eschew the Obliviation, Petunia was already on the brink of histrionics and maybe it would do her some good to let it all out for once. Lily raised her wand.

  
Lily and Sev were not invited to Dudley’s christening. They showed up anyway, in all black–but in perfectly respectful dress for a funeral–claiming to be bad fairies. Only they were amused.


	7. Sneeplings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by ensnapingthesenses’ Pokemon mashup

Sev was crashing at their flat, since his house in Cokeworth had been mysteriously set on fire while the family was out. Eileen and Tobias had apparently settled with some of her cousins. Sev, though, had no interest in going into hiding, or suffering the insidious gasleak that was his parents. So there he was, stretched out on Mary’s couch, looking up at Lily with bedroom eyes. It was appalling.

“You can’t have sex on my couch,” Mary interjected. “You have a bed, you have a room, use a muffling charm.”

Lily sunk a hand into Sev’s hair, starting stroking him. Feline, he closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “They end up cancelling when you climax though.”

“Fuck, I’ll cast it then.”

With his eyes still closed, Sev murmured, “What if there’s an attack? How would we know?” Lily nudged him, and he undulated to allow her space on the couch, and settled back in her lap.

Mary eyed them. “I’m certain your instinct for danger will alert you. Or the loud screams and chants of ‘Eat death eat death.’”

Lily smiled down at Sev. She passed a thumb along his jaw. “What a stupid thing to say. 'Eat death.’ But they’re the Death Eaters. Why tell us?”

“Cults aren’t known for their intelligence,” Mary said authoritatively.

Severus opened one beady black eye. “How would you know?”

“Yeah,” Lily chimed in, “it takes a certain organizational know-how to get a cultic terrorist movement going.”

Mary scrunched up her nose and sighed. “Still a fucking stupid name. Stupid chant. If I had to name a cult, I’d come up with something with…more depth.”

“Oh, like what?” Sev asked, amused.

“We could be the Marians. Or the Mariae–under her merry eye! See, it puns, it references Christianity and blessed virginhood and so Sophia, it’s clever and personal.”

Snape looked doubtful. Lily laughed at him. “Oh what Sev, what’d you call it? The Snapelings?”

“The Sneeplings,” Mary chortled.

Severus, disgruntled, lifted himself out of Lily’s lap and made to move away, but Lily wrapped her arms around him and was crooning, “Sneeplings, seedlings, steepling seedlings….” Touchy bastard, Mary thought, but as blunt as Lily was, she was rubbing smooth his rough edges, unfortunately literally. He was getting soothed–too liquid, Lily was leaning over him, oh her feet were no longer touching the floor, oh no.

“Don’t have sex on my couch,” Mary barked.


	8. This Is An Intervention

“Lily,” Mary said wearily, “I think you’re pregnant.”

“No, I’m not,” Lily snapped back, releasing the toilet bowl. “I’m on birth control, I got an IUD. I can’t be pregnant.”

Sev, in the doorway, traced a finger around his mouth carefully. Mary eyed him. He was getting better about being abrasive, and didn’t even reflexively insult her when she approached him about the possibility. Finally, he said carefully, “It’s still a new technology, there could be a malfunction, perhaps because of the conflict of magic…you’ve gained a lot of weight suddenly, but it’s not like you can keep anything down–”

Lily stood up, and then lurched. Rapidly Mary grabbed her. “I can’t be pregnant,” she said. “It’s like ninety-nine percent effective.”

Sev raised a sardonic eyebrow. “And muggleborns are one percent of the population.”

“Is that true?” Mary asked, still supporting Lily. “Or are you just making that up?”

Harrison Julian Evans, Harry for short, was born five months later, clutching the IUD. Mary took the picture. Sev keeps it in his wallet. Some babies just really want to be born–or maybe, in this case, it’s fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
> inspired by a true story, folks.


	9. christening

The baby doesn’t look much like either of them, but he knows he’s his. He’s got Lily’s eyes and nose, and his hair is dark like his, and messy as it is when it’s short, he always found it funny and infuriating that Potter tried to get a style that others deemed sloppy when it was on his. Harrison Julian Evans was his; his baby Harry. His son.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Sev said. Mary MacDonald paused.

“What?”

“The christening.”

Mary stared. “It’s a little too late to back out.” They were outside the church, dodging outside for a quick smoke before the ceremony began. Lily’s parents were C of E; this was a conciliary gesture, a please-pay-for-us promise. Sev didn’t know if Eileen was going to show up. His brow furrowed. Had he remembered to give her the invite? Lily had folded the invitations into little doves and charmed them to flutter in magical hands. Sluggy was coming, he was loudly exclaiming over the decorations. It had been such a busy week, Tom had wanted to hurry up on the next delivery and no matter how many times Sev said chemistry doesn’t work that way his boss only grew snarlier, you work that way. So he did, mixing a bit of magic, each surreptitious stir of the pipette making him feel a bit more in the whirlpool, he never thought he’d end up cooking meth, he’d hope for at least pharmaceuticals, oh well. Nasty stuff. It kept Harry fed.

Sev took a drag, chimney smoke in the gray churchyard. “It’s so…respectable. And I am not a respectable man. We’re not even married.”

“Well,” Mary said matter-of-factly, “even bastards deserve the forgiveness of our lord and savior, Jesus Christ.”

Sev threw his wasted cigarette into the gravel and stubbed it out with the heel of his good shoes. “Let’s go back in before Lily thinks I did a runner.”

Mary copied the gesture. “Oh, I think she knows you too well to ever think that–” but his lovely lover was coming out of the church and up to him, frazzled hair pinned back, baby tugging at her ear, and he took Harry carefully and looked at him solemnly. His boy. Harry swatted him on the nose and Lily burst out laughing, Mary smiling and looking away.

“Hey, hey,” he said. “Easy, son.” He caught Lily’s eye. “Do I sound like a father?” They were so young.

“Have you told him he’s worthless and will never amount to anything?” Lily asked.

“No.”

“Oh, then no. You don’t. Your dad showed up.”

“Motherfucker.” Harry was squirming, so Sev held him a bit closer, a bit tighter. He was such a cheerful baby, couldn’t have gotten that from either of them. The baby cooed, and Severus found himself getting lost in his Avada Kedavra green eyes. Selling his wand was worth this; he could do well enough with a sigil and a cauldron. Did he have his eyebrows? They looked sweet on him, how was that possible?

“That would be you,” Mary said. “Or your father. Presuming he could stand to fuck your mom after she spewed you out.”

Lily looked thoughtful. “Would you say birth is just erotic vomiting?”

Mary nudged her. “Stop it, you’re a mom now. Be serious. No fun. No more sex. Or, for Christ’s sake, use a condom next time.”

“But we did,” Lily said despairingly. “And look where that got us.” Sev was still smiling into Harry’s eyes. “Look, he looks drugged, deranged, actually respectable.”

Mary shook her head. “I think I’ll keep indulging, thanks. No erotic vomiting for me. When’s the service supposed to start, anyway?”

Petunia scurried out, hissing, “Where fuck have you guys been, the service started two minutes ago, come on, before the first reading is over,” and panicked, laughing, they followed her back into the church, in their Sunday best, smelling slightly of cigarette smoke.


	10. Message

James Potter wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he knocked on Lily Evans’s door one freezing December night, but a frazzled Snape holding a screaming baby hadn’t made the list.

“She’s not home yet,” Snape said over the baby, who continued to wail. He was rocking him slowly, but his eyes were wide and terrified. “This would stop if she were home. He wants her. You’re not her. Go away.” He shut the door.

James rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. He sighed. He had never got along with Snape, and he’d resented that Lily had cut him dead after that one visit to his house in that shitty little muggle town. It had freaked him out, to be honest, that he’d lived in such a muggle dungheap, that a witch could seem–could be–as defeated as Snape’s mother, and he’d tried to apologize. It had only infuriated Lily even more–probably because he hadn’t actually apologized to Snape himself–and ended in Dumbledore ordering him to stop bothering both of them, else face harassment charges.

Still, Mad-eye had given him a message to deliver, and the neighborhood was too sketchy to linger at the doorstep. At least it wasn’t Cokeworth, but James had already been read the letter by Dumbledore for performing magic in front of that police officer, and didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He knocked on that door again.

The door snapped open. Snape, angry now, snarled, “What the _fuck_ do you want, Potter?” The baby was now sniffling into his chest, but at his father’s tone began to whine. Snape held him closer and stroked his hair. “Potter, I really don’t have time for this.”

“I have to deliver the message,” James said. “And it’s cold out here. And conspicuous. Can’t I wait for her inside?”

Snape glared at him. “No.” He made to close the door, but James stuck his foot in.

“C’mon, Snape. Else I’ll keep knocking until you let me in.”

Snape clenched his jaw. He continued bouncing the baby, who seemed to be getting sleepy. James smirked. Luckily for all of them, Lily came hurrying up the street. She pulled him back and Snape shut the door.

“What the fuck were you thinking, showing up at my place?” Lily said furiously. “Mad-Eye told you to meet me at Headquarters! We’re trying _not_ to make my son a target, you fucking toerag! Did you even check to see if anybody was following you?”

James felt his stomach sink: oh, shit.


	11. Chapter 11

“You’re drunk,” Severus glared, holding the bathroom door ajar. “Harry was asking after you.”

Lily clutched the sides of the toilet and groaned. “I’m sorry,” she choked, tears squeezing, and then she began to cough. Quickly she curled over the toilet bowl and began to vomit. Severus watched unflinchingly.

“This is the fourth Friday in a row you’ve done this,” he said bitingly, “are you trying to slip into dipsomania? You’re a mother now, I can’t let Harry see you like this–”

“Close the door.”

Severus stared at her. Lily turned around, tearstained, to quiet the fury rising in his face. “Peter Pettigrew’s dead.”

Severus’ face turned neutral. “Yes,” he said blandly.

“He committed suicide.” She rubbed at her eyes, swallowed a sob, the taste of sweet rum-laden vomit. “He was the leak.” She looked up at Severus. His face was still bland, cold, unreadable. “He–he fucking betrayed us, he sold the Longbottoms–”

“Judas Iscariot,” Sev said. “Do you think you’re done?”

“What?”

“Coating our toilet with the insides of your stomach. I’ll make you a cup of tea.” He swept away. Lily half-shouted after him, not wanting to wake up the baby, “You’re so British!”

She heaved the last of the rum out, the two shrewdrivers she had at the Leaky, and some chips. Was that all she ate? She was going to be so miserably sick in the morning, she was already so miserable. Sev was right, she couldn’t let Harry see her like this. She could feel his anger–”I can’t let Harry see you like this,” this was only the second time she’d done anything like this, but of course he was sensitive about drinking. He never got drunk, not anymore, not since the night she fell pregnant. She laid down on the cool tile floor, relishing in the ceramic leeching the heat from her body, stabilizing her swooning head. It was hard to believe he was three already–that they were twenty-three. It was hard to believe they were grownups now. James and Sirius were getting totally sloshed tonight, she had left Marlene sobbing into Dorcas’ bosom, but she had responsibilities. She shouldn’t have been so weak.

“Lily?” Severus’ voice, a shadow over her face. She opened her eyes. He was still clearly annoyed, but that was better than the blankness. “Get up.” He crouched next to her and carefully, gently nudged her up. She rubbed her face into his neck. “Don’t do that, you’re rubbing snot all over me.”

“I love you.”

“Yes, and you show it in such fluvial ways. Next time, buy me flowers, give me a blowjob, I don’t know–”

“Blowjob’s fluvial.”

“Come on, you stink.”

She objected to this.

“You stink of rum and–” he sniffed delicately, “limoncello? Not to mention recent vomit. Get in the bath.”

“M’ clothes.” She sniffed again, grew watery: fluvial love.

Carefully, he undressed her, set her in the bath, brought her tea and made her eat an egg sandwich. When she was almost sober, she took his hand and sloshed out of the tub. When she tried to kiss him he turned away. “Oh, sorry. Vomit.” She launched over to brush her teeth, shivering.

He draped a towel over her as she began vigorously brushing, rubbing it against her skin softly. “I’ll take Harry and leave if you do this again.”

Her heart stopped, she paused, spat, tried to swallow and regretted it. She rinsed her mouth out. “He’s my son.”

“He needs you sober. I need you sober.”

“Sev, this–” Tears threatened to overwhelm her, she dropped her elbows on the edges of the sink and placed her hands over eyes. “Don’t be so fucking drastic, no–I can’t–you can’t fucking just up and leave–”

Severus wrapped the towel around her more securely and dropped his head into the crook of her neck. “Please. Don’t do this again. I couldn’t–it frightens me.”

Vulnerability. Lily said, slowly, “Don’t blackmail me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“Lily–”

“I love you.”

“Then, please, don’t do this again.”


	12. the past present

It’s their first Christmas in the house, a cramped bungalow by the sea. Romantic in summer, damp and cold in winter, Sev and Lily have been struggling with enchanting the floors to warm and the walls to resist the buckling snow. Lily worries that all their runecraft, her delicate charmwork, will disrupt their electricity. She likes having the phone, the refrigerator, the neighbors over without worry.

Sev finds himself missing magic that he never got to express. He sold his wand shortly after Harry’s birth, six years ago, exchanging the galleons for the next three months’ rent, so Lily could relax with the baby and he could start scouting for more kosher work. Sometimes he forgets they were ever wizards–and then Lily will come into their bedroom and flop on the bed, frowning over a parchment letter from the Order of the Phoenix. She’s technically an auror, hunting Death Eaters who sought anonymity in the mundane world. They tell people she’s a cop, and he’s the landscaper who’s saving up to go to uni. He tells them he wants to do chemistry. In a year, he’ll be able to go back to school.

Lily is curled up on the sofa, dreaming, watching Sev guide Harry through seasoning the chicken broth that will be the bulk of their Christmas meal, bone broth and melting meat, carrots and coriander and peppers and parsley and really anything Sev thinks is tasty and healthy. He has black bread warming in the oven; Lily sniffs the air hopefully. She’s hungry. Neither of them are religious, and Sev’s allergic to fuss unless he’s the one making it. They agreed a good, hearty, simple meal was enough: and a cheap one.

Dinner done, Sev carefully maneuvers the pot on the counter. Sharply he directs Harry out of the way and towards the cabinet. Fondly she watches them work in concert, Harry placing a bowl and Sev carefully ladling soup into it.

“No, less carrots,” Harry protests, when they get to his bowl, the green one.

Sev looks at him sardonically and plops one more into the soup. “You’ll go blind.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale! You told me yourself!” Harry is outraged. “That’s a lie!”

Sev regards him. “Would I lie?” In the background, Lily snorts.

Harry looks at him doubtfully. “Yeah?”

His father laughs. “Only for your own good.” Carefully they maneuver the soup onto the coffee table–Harry is remarkable steady, always has been, both of them had been spillers as kids–and their son flops onto the couch, snuggling against her. Lily opens the quilt and wraps him into her. Fleetingly, she prays he never grows up.

Sev returns with the bread and they break their fast and eat, teasing each other drowsily as the night goes on. Sev is reclining on the floor, like a cat by the fire and Harry’s fast falling asleep in her embrace. The food was warm, they are happily full and tired. Lily doesn’t want to go to sleep.

“Oh, presents,” she remembers.

Sev sighs. “He’s asleep.”

“M not,” Harry murmurs, and he shifts against Lily. They wait for more but he just settles in happily.

“We can open ours,” Lily says quietly, “and leave his under the bough for the morning.”

Shuddering a yawn, Sev stretches and undulates up, padding to the hiding place. He returns with the gifts. They open what they’ve given each other: he to her, a copy of Colette short stories and a collection of Adorno’s essays; she to him, a nicer edition of Sense & Sensibility (in honor of their new house) and a forbidding Russian copy of Crime & Punishment. Harry’s they place on the mantelpiece, a set of the Chronicles of Narnia, The Hobbit, a handsewn teddy bear–made by Severus, who has always been better with his hands. Lily dreams of enchanting it to move and protect and play, but they don’t need magic, they don’t need to draw magical attention.

She feels Harry shift against her. “Prsnts,” he mutters.

“Are you going to get up?” Carefully she smooths his unruly hair. It bounds back into place.

“I’m awake.” Harry looks at the mantelpiece and scrunches up his nose, a look she makes when she’s lazy and displeased. She turns her head to laugh with Sev but in horror she stares as the carefully wrapt gifts float towards her son, and happily he behind tearing them.

Sev looks stricken. Lily tries to breathe.

“Harry?” Sev inquires sharply. “How long have you been able to–to do things like that?”

Harry is examining the teddy bear. “Always, Daddy. Just like you.” He turns to his mother. “Mummy, look! He’s got green buttons for eyes. Like you!”

“Like you too, dear,” Lily finally says. “Well. You–how–you don’t do this outside of the house, do you?”

Harry plays with the bear’s moveable arms. “No. I don’t want the other kids to think I’m a freak. But I’m not a freak. I’ve seen both of you do this. You try to hide it but you’re not good at it.” He looks up sagaciously. “Like how Daddy always makes his lies easy. I figured it was meant to be a secret.”

His parents look at each other, appalled. Lily has a sinking feeling Harry is going to be very angry about the secrecy in ten years, when he hits those teenage years.

Sev breaks the silence first. “I told you he’d be a Slytherin.”

Lily suddenly flares. “Oh like hell we’re sending him to Hogwarts.”

Harry looks up. “What’s a…” and both his parents groan. In familial simplicity, life just got more complicated.


	13. Lily Evans is Displeased

“I don’t see why we have to go all the way to Diagon Alley to pick up his wand,” Lily complains. They’re driving to London. She’s driving them, and so, Severus sighs, she has the write to bitch however she wants. “Why does Ollivander have to be the only wandmaker in all of Wizarding Britain? It’s an unfair monopoly, keeping it all in the family–and he can’t have enough wands for everyone.”

“Some families, especially in the North, just pass down wands.”

“But that’s impractical if there’re multiple siblings!” Lily slams the horn and shouts at a reckless driver. “And no dead grandparents!” The other driver speeds ahead. “Motherfucker.”

“Nice going, mum.”

“Just trying to keep us alive, Harry darling.”

“Are we there yet?”

“Do we look why we’re in the midst of Wizarding Britain?”

“How would I know? I’ve never been there.”

“Harry, quiet down before your mother has another stroke out of sheer road rage.”

Severus is regretting letting Lily drive, but she is the faster driver–he is too cautious, and they have a train to catch.

“Also, why can’t the Hogwarts Express make multiple stops? Manchester’s large enough. York’s been a center of magic since the Romans. Even a stop at Newcastle, or closer to the Wall–it’s ridiculous! Inconvenient, ineffective, impractical, and dated. Like everything in this world!” She brandishes a finger.

“Then why am I going?”

“Because the Headmaster’s a snake. Oh, sorry Sev.” Guilt, a flash of annoyance: old habits fire up old fights, old hurts. “It’s tradition.”

Harry is silent. “But didn’t Dad–”

“Harry, do not–”

“Sorry Father.”

“But can’t you homeschool me?”

“It’s a little too late, darling. It’s September 1st.”

“I don’t want to leave my friends! I don’t want to go in all alone! Even you two had each other….”

Severus sighs heavily. “Harry. You know I wasn’t able to finish school there, taking care of your grandfather. I wouldn’t be able to cover Transfiguration, for example, without my wand–you can’t live in the Wizarding World with just runes and potions, my love.”

“But I don’t want to. You don’t–”

“But I wanted to, Harry. I so very much wanted to stay. Don’t take this opportunity for granted. This is something I couldn’t have–the opportunity to be fully myself, at all times. You can be Harry Evans, sprinter, the chem professor’s son, and also the auror’s boy, a wizard. You’ll be able to fly. Can you imagine that? Flying around the spires of the castle, chasing thestrals? Stuffing yourself at the feasts? Waving your wand and suddenly, your cat’s five times as large and ready to eat your enemies?”

Lily laughs a bit, breaking the spell. “I forgot you did that. What was that, fourth year?”

Harry is quiet. “Is it going to be okay? Going in muggle-raised?”

Severus meets Lily’s gaze and looks through the side window.

Lily taps the steering wheel impatiently: fucking London traffic. “It’s not going to be easy. Steer clear of Malfoy’s boy and things should be okay.”

“But what if my friends forget me?”

Parenting, Severus thinks, was invented to break his heart and press fingers in all his old wounds, but he doesn’t regret that one miraculous night, where the condom broke and they were too horny and drunk to really consider the consequences, he doesn’t regret selling his wand, and now he no longer regrets leaving Hogwarts, because would he have managed to stay clear of Malfoy’s boys?


	14. Wanded

Severus was frazzled. Harry had convinced them, after a month’s pleading, to let him spend his birthday at Diagon Alley, so he could see his friends. He and Lily had no intention in having wizarding-raised teenagers in their quiet mundane house, particularly since they lived off the Ministry grid and tried not to use magic around the house. They took the Knight Bus down to London, Lily hailing it down, and were going to stay the night at the Leaky Cauldron, get some shopping done. Severus didn’t like shopping.  
  
He found most of Harry’s friends annoying. The Longbottom boy wibbled if you so much looked at him, the youngest Weasley had atrocious manners, and the muggleborn was so painfully earnest in her obsession in proving that she belonged–it put his teeth on edge. Lily didn’t like them either, but they knew better to try to intervene; after all, her parents had tried with them, and look how that ended up. He did, however, like the tagalong Weasley girl, who seemed to find them all silly, and Harry’s dormmate Dean, who lived nearby and seemed to act as a mediator. The Irish one couldn’t make it. From stories he had heard, it seemed like it was a good thing.  
  
“I’m getting bored of chaperoning,” Lily whispered to him. They were sitting a little apart from the group at Fortescue’s. Severus hadn’t gotten anything, he didn’t like eating ice cream in public.  
  
“We could leave,” he suggested.  
  
Lily crossed her legs. “But I remember how we were when we were his age, and every time an adult took their eyes off of us we’d be shagging in the closet or brewing something weird or tormenting Petunia with frogspawn–”  
  
“Ah, but Lily, Harry’s a sweet boy, and responsible. And I’m not sure he’s one for shagging in alleyways–”  
  
“That was once. Seventh year. Oh, no, didn’t–”  
  
“Lupin see us? Yes. It was before you got your apparition license.”  
  
“I can’t believe I liked you that much, to fuck you in front of Lupin.”  
  
He took her hand and kissed it. Lily smiles at him, looking up from under her lashes. They’ve been together for almost twenty years now, and moments like these, his son laughing with his friends, his best friend and better self holding his hand, he finds life a miracle.  
  
“Why don’t we let them be?” his miracle says. “You’re right, they’re not going to have an orgy in the middle of Diagon Alley. Even Mulciber wasn’t that depraved.” Lily likes to talk about Mulciber as a way to expiate her guilt, air it out every so often; she killed him about a year after they graduated, as the Death Eaters’ attempted to raid her house. Severus took down Avery that night. He doesn’t think about it, not like she does. “We could go to Ollivander’s.”  
  
He shifts in his chair. “I thought Harry would want to be there.”  
  
“He’s fourteen, he doesn’t want to be anywhere near us.”  
  
Severus sighs. Sometimes he wishes they could have had Harry now, Lily now a detective in the Magical Mundane Murder unit, he a professor–a stable and loving home, not the constant threat of starvation and eviction that were those early years, in terror that the Death Eaters would get them, that they wouldn’t be able to pay the rent, Lily had been sneaking leftovers after Order meetings, he was struggling to get away from Tom’s syndicate–oh, it didn’t bear thinking about. He has his son, and really, would he have tried so hard if he hadn’t had a baby to be a father to?  
  
“It pains me to say it–”  
  
“Oh, greatly–”

“But you’re right. And it shouldn’t take long, I remember the make.”

They excused themselves, Lily only embarassing Harry a little, Severus only making Weasley sweat a bit before they left. Hand in hand, they walked to Ollivander’s. Severus was nervous despite himself, and it was reassuring to have Lily there, like he had the first time around, both of them gaping at the singing shop signs and bright windows, skipping around the grout of the cobblestones. By that point, they were growing too self-conscious to touch. Of course, that had changed rather quickly and dramatically, and the entire Romeo & Juliet situation had only made it worse.  
  
They entered the dusky old shop, blinking. Lily held in a sneeze, he could almost hear the thought she was too polite to express: does he ever clean? And with magic to make it easy, too, these lazy purebloods…  
  
Lamplight eyes accost them. “Oh, Mr. Snape, was it? I was wondering when you would come by, since your mother’s wand came into my posession. Alder and dragon heartstring, wasn’t it? Ten inches, rather unyielding…”  
  
He does not want to talk about Eileen. Lily coughs. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Ollivander,” she lies. “The shop’s hardly changed since we came to get Harry’s wand.” He squeezes her hand: hardly been cleaned, too. She returns the pressure, she gets the joke.  
  
“Ah, Mrs. Snape!”  
  
“Auror Evans, actually. I kept my surname.”  
  
The wandmaker is nonplussed. This time Severus coughs, to keep from laughing. Lily nudges him delicately. He coughs a little harder.  
  
“Oh dear, Mr. Snape, are you alright?”  
  
“Dust allergies,” he says shortly. “But–to business? A wand?”  
  
His old wand had been elm and phoenix feather, eleven inches, supple–he had needed that suppleness in order to keep from breaking, those years at Hogwarts. People assumed only the Sacred Twenty-Eight had elm wands, and it had done his standing in Slytherin good, redeeming his mother’s blood. This time a cypress wand chooses him, which makes Lily tense–they have a reputation for martyrdom–with a unicorn hair core. He’s surprised. He’s grown soft. The wood is supple in his hand, and when he slips it into his pocket he keeps his hand on it. Lily leads him back towards Fortescue’s shop.  
  
Harry and his friends are still there. He looks up and waves at his parents. Severus smiles.  
  
“I’ve changed,” he says.  
  
Lily scoffs. “Of course you have, you’re not eleven anymore. Come on, let’s get some ice cream for takeaway and go to dinner. Harry will want to know.”


	15. Hermione Has Questions

“Thanks for helping me with my research paper, Mrs. Evans,” Hermione said, setting up her dictation quill on the coffee table. Lily glanced back; she had been watching the sunset, scanning the sky for her boy on his broomstick. He had promised he would be back before 8.

“Ms. Evans,” she corrected. “Mrs. Evans is my mother.” Lily sighed. “And it’s good you’re doing this, we need to declassify and publicize the Order as soon as possible. For history’s sake.”

Hermione twisted and flicked her wand around her quill, and then rapped the parchment smartly. “December 27th, 1995, interviewing Lily Evans in her apartment. Ms. Evans is a hero of the Voldemort War, who personally destroyed three pieces of the eponymous dark wizard’s soul. Question: Ms. Evans, how did you become embroiled in the war effort?”

Lily glanced at the window again. It was getting darker. “Sextus Mulciber and John Avery didn’t like an uppity mudblood like me enforcing Gryffindor prefect duties, so they tried to put me in my place at the beginning of my sixth year. With a Blasting Curse. Off a fourth floor staircase. The fall broke six bones, and in that painful night spent healing in the Infirmary, I plotted my self-defense. It escalated to the point where they burnt my boyfriend’s house down and killed his father, and tried to kill my sister. The battles waged on.”

Hermione paused. “Are you implying the war was waged within the walls of Hogwarts?” Then she stopped again. “Wait, they killed Dr. Snape’s father? Why? He was a target?”

At that point, the door came open, Sev sweeping in with his arms full of grocery bags, Harry trailing behind him. “It’s bloody freezing, Harry, start a fire–do not use your wand, young man, you’re not seventeen yet–Lily, help me with these?”

Lily shrugged apologetically at Hermione. “Why don’t we talk about this later? Help Harry with the fire, would you? My husband looks cold.”

“But I have questions,” Hermione complained.

And I don’t feel like fucking answering them, Lily thought, at least not with Sev in the house. He feels guilty enough.


End file.
